


and the history books forgot about us

by CloudedAbandon



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, F/M, Gen, M/M, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1663172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudedAbandon/pseuds/CloudedAbandon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We are running out of time.” Arthur says, his hand seeking Matthew’s. “I wasted centuries and now that I have you, I will disappear.”</p><p>“So long as my gates stand, Arthur, you will not.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the history books forgot about us

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr.

I.

It begins with Elaine and it ends with Elaine.

Arthur has never been able to convince his sister of anything. Elaine’s always been too wild, too stubborn, too furious to listen to reason. Her smile was the placid ocean, her heart was a tempest and it fueled the currents of her blood.

She was born in a storm, rising to the surface when their mother was cast down to the sea, caught in the churning foam.

Born earlier, it took him years to find her, and by the time Arthur did, the king and queen had already adopted Elaine and taken her up to their castle by the sea.

But, being a princess was chafing, and she eventually invokes his presence, boldly telling him that they were “one and the same.”

(And Arthur had just smiled at her, said, “I wish, sister dear.”)

It begins with Elaine and it ends with Elaine. Everything.

(The rule of their parents, the age of their ancestors, and the lives of those who stand in her way.)

She drowns the world in her oceans, tears apart the earth in her fury, and breaks down citadels with her winds.

He, in his woods, watches and waits, hopes she will forget about him in the winding arteries of trees stretched across the land.

But Elaine finds him, because nothing stops her, nothing can hold her.

Especially not after Marianne’s death.

\---

Matthew is small and tearful, always looking up at Arthur with wet eyes, unhappy mouth demanding that the god do something, anything.

They stand on the same shore that Arthur saw his sister found. The same shore where Marianne, still a girl in while and ribbons, call out to her mother, Elaine cradled in the wool of Marianne’s cloak.

The castle is gone, dragged into the sea. Any memory of the family that once lived there is left for the books, a story of a family that raised a god but was not able to withstand a plague. Any other details are lost in the cavernous ocean, in the tomb of Elaine’s chest.

(“He has Marianne’s laugh.” Elaine had sworn, fingertips so gentle against Matthew’s slumbering face. “I cannot let him die. I cannot…but I cannot, brother. Please.”)

\---

The other gods, appearing from all corners, quarrel and shout until the heavens tremble, the world shakes, and the humans look up, terrified prayers on their tongues until dawn.

Arthur stays in his forest, rocking Matthew in the sweeping boughs of trees, lets birdsong ease them both into sleep.

Elaine trusts him to give Matthew some power when he comes of age, but Arthur has no idea. He barely knows his own. And Elaine had always seemed to control everything.

He figures he has more than enough time, but then Francis comes to him and Arthur can’t help but grin.

“So you survived Elaine’s sweep.” He says. “Have you all your pieces?”

Francis scowls at him. His scowl only softens when he sees Matthew in his arms. He sighs.

And all he says is:

“If you want that child to live, you had better come back.”

\---

Arthur sends all the gods back to their respective corners, not by their choice but when his temper tears open the sky and when his voice becomes thunder, they listen.

He reminds them enough of Elaine to frighten them.

Matthew refuses to come back into his arms. Standing on his own feet, now, he cries when Arthur tries to lift him.

Matthew cries into Francis’s hem and slowly Arthur’s face stills into something hard, unforgiving, and maybe it is then he realizes he is not meant to be a father.

(He has other children, too many children, because Elaine had talked about old gods, the same gods who stood by and did nothing while their father went mad.

Secretly, Arthur thinks she merely wanted revenge for their mother. Anything more was just a gift.)

\--- 

Francis raises Matthew, on his island that waits across the one sea that Arthur won’t cross. To step on his sister’s grave wouldn’t hurt, but it might kill whatever softness remains in his chest.

Arthur tries not to look. He won’t compare himself to Francis, not in this matter. Francis’s children populate the world, build his temples, write his hymns, and create endlessly.

Eventually the old gods are forgotten, and the new ones, with Arthur at the head, assume influence. They receive the prayers, they establish cities, and they favor the mortals.

II.

Maybe it is fitting that, just like Marianne, Matthew has the same power over gods.

Had Marianne lived, had Elaine thought with her head instead of her heart, Arthur likes to think she would have been the only one Elaine would have allowed to be invoked before her.

Arthur is content with Matthew being invoked before his name.

\---

“I am happy you are here.” Arthur tells him, rises to meet him when Francis nudges the younger god forward.

If anyone whispers, Arthur refuses to hear. He will rise for whomever he wishes, and, seeing Matthew, with that same pleading mouth, Arthur thinks he would still do whatever Matthew wished.

Matthew gives him a small smile.

\---

Many of them forget Matthew, but he is always there. Every ceremony opens with a hymn to him, every gate carries his symbols, and his temple doors close only during times of peace. Travelers invoke his name before they step out of their homes.

Sometimes Arthur cannot even breathe without Matthew’s answering smile.

Matthew isn’t always on the mount. He moves easily through the months, through the country.

Arthur wishes his doorway were the one Matthew chooses next, but it never is.

\--

He stays quiet, watches over his world. He accepts his sacrifices. He accepts the sacrifices to Elaine, because no one realizes yet that it is not Elaine blessing ships, it is not Elaine gentling the sea for trade.

Sometimes Arthur thinks that Elaine should have told him what she wanted. She left Matthew with him because she couldn’t bear to look upon his face. Maybe everything she did was out of her limitless affection for Marianne.

As a mortal, Elaine could hardly keep Marianne. But even immortal, Elaine lost Marianne to a human king, then to a human sickness.

She didn’t tell Arthur to raise him, just make him a god (and even that was unclear; she just didn’t want Matthew dead). She didn’t tell him to take control. She didn’t tell him anything, and for a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it, Arthur can only assume that part of her was lost in the echo of Marianne’s slowed heartbeat.

He thinks too much of Elaine these days. He never thought of her before Matthew’s return.

III.

Ekaterina starts to make noises about taking Matthew as a consort. Ivan comes around, making inquiries to Francis, speaking of floral wreathes and weather mild enough.

Natalya says nothing, but her hostile glares from over Ivan’s shoulder speak louder. She prophesizes a happy union, of springs no longer heralded by vengeful rains, of the crisp autumn wind guiding gentler snows.

Arthur listens to Natalya more than her siblings, finds her forecasts to be better reasons than Ivan’s poetry or the flowers as pink as Ekaterina’s blush that rise wherever Matthew steps.

Eventually Matthew calls Ekaterina “Katya” and then “Katyusha,” and Arthur gives his blessing because, at least, Matthew asks for it and Francis still defers to him, at least.

Matthew demurs on the subject of consortship, and Ekaterina finally lets it go when she has daughters for each season. They remain cordial and sweet.

IV.

Years pass, and Arthur’s city is besieged and Matthew’s temple doors are thrown open.

Dormant for years, even when Matthew took lovers and the clouds forgot to block Arthur’s sight, Arthur’s fury comes out in the galloping thunder of a thousand horses and the flash of steel, in the arc and quiver of bows and arrows on the wind. The earth trembles and the ocean swells, it rains, and Arthur will make Antonio rue the day he dared raise a blade against him.

Matthew comes to him in his temple, by the flickering light of the oil lamps, and he touches Arthur’s shoulder.

When Arthur does not cast him off, Matthew comes around, unsmiling but steady.

He touches Arthur’s cheek, dares to press his palm against his hardened features.

“Send your army through my gates.” Matthew murmurs. “Tell your generals that they must only look ahead.”

\---

He wins.

He drags Antonio by his hair and buries him under a mountain on the edge of the world.

Arthur traps all of them under mountains, mocks them, and says if they can beat through the rocks, he’ll give up his throne. But the earth only moves for him, when Arthur tells it to, and they know this.

(One was his lover. Achingly, because Arthur is not above tenderness, casts him under a volcano. He’ll hear his former lover’s call, but if the giant speaks, he’ll destroy the island once under his protection.)

\---

The war awakens in Arthur something loud, something honest.

He has been dreaming of his woods, of the lush green canopies, the swollen undergrowth that he learned to tread.

But that realm no longer belongs to him. Maybe it never did. Regardless, it is now beyond his grasp. He lost all rights to it when he ascended to the home of the gods, and the trees in which he and Matthew once slumbered have been cut down and used to build the homes of his supplicants, and that is more than enough reason to protect them.

And then there is Matthew.

\---

“My temples are yours.” He tells Matthew, finding him under a willow tree. “Your name preludes mine. You decide my actions. Surely you must realize that?”

Matthew hesitates, maybe fettered by his instincts, the primeval terror of Arthur, but then Matthew sinks down to his knees, following Arthur’s descent to the ground that the other god had not noticed.

“I know,” Matthew says softly, drawing Arthur’s hands into his. “But surely you realize that I cannot deny you?”

He stiffens, starts to rise, but Matthew pulls him back, just tugs, and Arthur comes so easily, even if that familiar ache has reappeared between his ribs.

Matthew smiles faintly, “I cannot deny you, but I trust that you will not abuse this.”

\---

There are other wars, because the rest are disappointed with him, restless. They want his spot, his temple on the highest mountain, and part of it is Arthur’s fault because he has never been the one to make sure they fear him.

The war with Antonio was won justly.

Arthur has never been a brutal, ruthless god.

When Alfred takes side against him, sometime in Arthur’s chest gives way.

And he never looks back.

(He does not release Alfred from his cage until all his temples have been raised to the ground and his islands have been dragged under the waves. He makes sure Alfred has nothing but his immortality. But what is that worth when you are forgotten?

Arthur makes sure Alfred is forgotten.)

V.

All doors open for Matthew, but Arthur’s has never been closed to begin with.

Matthew always finds him, whether Arthur is brooding in his temple, hiding out in the coves that pockmark his shores. More often than not, Matthew finds him on the white cliffs of his coastline, looking over the slate-smooth ocean.

Every few centuries, the ocean reclaims chunks of the land, leaving the cliffs smooth and bone-white. The ocean never quite retreats, beating against the shores. None of this has changed, and Arthur’s holdings grow smaller and smaller with each storm.

“We are running out of time.” Arthur says, his hand seeking Matthew’s. “I wasted centuries and now that I have you, I will disappear.”

“So long as my gates stand, Arthur, you will not.”

\---

When he casts Alfred away, Matthew comes to him, wet-eyed and mouth unhappy, not drawing Arthur to him but pressing against him, against his chest like he wants to sink into Arthur, between his ribs, to fill the space Arthur thinks was formed just for him.

He and Alfred were friends, playmates at times despite their age.

“What should I have done?” Arthur demands hoarsely. “He could have asked. When have I ever denied him?”

Matthew kisses his cheeks, lets Arthur push him back against the mosaic floor. He does not say that had Alfred wanted a mountaintop forge, veins of precious metal in a mountain range, that Arthur would have given it.

But it was Alfred’s arrows that pierced Arthur’s armor; it was bombs made with Alfred’s powders that wrecked the walls of Arthur’s namesake kingdom. It was Alfred’s borrowed fire that ravaged the countryside.

Arthur does not cry, but he fucks Matthew harder; harder, when Matthew just takes it, takes in Arthur’s rage and hurt in to himself so Arthur will neither heave the earth nor rattle the heavens instead.

VI.

Time passes, and some gods fade. Some move away, but Matthew is constant. Arthur is always there.

Maybe Arthur was never meant to leave his forests, but he finds new refuge between Matthew’s thighs, in his embrace. Matthew, who won’t laugh often, but smiles with his sweet, ambrosia-stained lips. Who isn’t his consort, but won’t look at anyone else because Arthur holds his gaze.

“I adore you.” Arthur whispers into the crook of his neck, broad palms and spread fingers on Matthew’s hips.

Matthew rises and falls with him, body like a bow in his hands, and every breath of his beckoning for Arthur to come closer.

 

VII.

New beasts move across their lands, metal crisscrossing the landscape, connecting towns that grow ever large. The world becomes much louder, much smaller.

Feliciano is delighted, chattering away about the new inventions that appear each time he brings a message. When Lovino comes, in his stead, he complains about the new noises.

But soon Arthur hears of cars, sees Lovino at a race with new leather gloves and looking furiously happy under the roar of the crowd.

Arthur sees Matthias’s new ships. He admires Berwald’s craftsmanship as new materials are introduced with the same awe he did as when Berwald presented him with his throne.

The world moves on, grows larger, and Arthur cannot be sure of how it all happened.

Matthew just smiles and tells him not to worry.

VIII.

Their empire is long gone, so Matthew brings him to a cottage by the sea where a kingdom once stood.

There are rough grasses all around, but Matthew walks with him along the shore.

It doesn’t hurt anymore to see the ocean, but Arthur still cannot walk too far into the white-tipped waves. The ocean is a grave, and Arthur was never able to control it like Elaine.

So they walk along the shore, like they always have.

But now they are not alone.

Children play in tide pools and bathers run through the waves and dozens more rest on the beach, sleeping despite the chill.

\---

Matthew paints, but he’s terrible at it. Cheeks smeared with light blues and purples, Matthew looks indignant when Arthur laughs at his attempt at the sunset. He comes up behind him, holds Matthew’s hand in his and guides his brush along the canvas.

“We should leave the painting to Francis.”

Matthew’s hand goes lax in his, but he does not notice at first. When he does, he looks down and Matthew’s head is tilted back, his back against Arthur’s front.

He says, “We don’t have to. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

\---

In their little cottage by the sea, Arthur tries to write. He still has paint smears along his sides and shoulders from Matthew’s fingertips. They curve around his neck, where Matthew had pulled him down for a kiss before Arthur could unbutton his shirt.

(“We’re still here, Arthur, ” Matthew had mumbled between kisses, his arms around Arthur’s shoulders. “And we can do anything now.”)

He was never good at writing, but it makes Matthew happy, makes Matthew slide into his lap and demand that Arthur recite the words to him.

(Arthur thinks he should have done this earlier, should have wooed Matthew instead of demanded him. Why Matthew is with him, he will never know. Why he loves Matthew, he will never be able to explain. But Matthew is and Arthur does, and right now, in their little cottage, it is enough.

Arthur, now, however, can understand why Elaine sunk herself and all memory of her love into the ocean. He understands the feeling, where it comes from.)

\---

Arthur makes it rain one day, a sticky, misty rain, and when Matthew comes back inside with soaked hair and cold cheeks, Arthur has a fire roaring.

He motions to Matthew with a hand, arm open and holding a blanket.

“You did this.” Matthew says.

Arthur smiles, faintly, tiredly, “We can’t stay here forever, but I would like this day with you.”

IX.

There isn’t much left for Arthur nowadays. His temple is filled with tourists and their clicking cameras. Sometimes he goes back, finds the descendents of supplicants that he remembers clearly.

Mostly he follows Matthew. Matthew is for this time. He goes from city to city, and while Arthur writes in their tiny flat, Matthew goes to school. He comes home, retelling the passage of time as though he and Arthur didn’t witness it.

But Arthur smiles, listens.

They travel together. Arthur writes and Matthew absorbs everything.

Sometimes Matthew disappears but he always comes back. Arthur waits and Matthew comes back.

X.

At some point, Arthur says he can’t keep traveling anymore, that he simply doesn’t have the strength. And Matthew is never happy those days, but he laughs at Arthur’s dry jokes, laughs when Arthur kisses his neck even though his eyes have never changed. Only now he closes them so Arthur can’t see.

“My gate still stands, Arthur.” Matthew whispers.

He’s still young and handsome, practically glowing. He’s sun burnt and freckling, and Arthur had demanded he wear a hat, but Matthew stuck with sunglasses.

(Arthur’s hair has faded at the sides, but Matthew insists he looks distinguished, smirks and says that Arthur’s ageless in bed.)

And Arthur opens his mouth to speak, but his throat closes and for a moment, he doesn’t know what to say.

Matthew squeezes his hand.

They move with the crowd, through the crumbling archway, but they look forward while everyone else looks up at the worn carvings.

(That night, Arthur murmurs _we are still here_.)


End file.
